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Winter Geese

 I dreamt of a brother.

Long, long forgotten.

Memories jailed

like criminals.

He came, I’m sure when

I sent a missive.

I heard my sister’s

sweet remembrance of

a father’s love,

her white, laced dress,

tiny flowers in her ringlet

hair.

My soft voice

would only come

from heaven or

a dream.

I saw a strong man.

His eyes, tree-covered

mountains. His angst

an eagle’s wings.

His hands a valley,

lush, vibrant

and green.

Where had he been

all this time?

Did my father

send him?

I opened my mouth

to ask. My words

weak and power–

less. “Wait” he said.

I’ll come for you.

But, he turned,

so I could no longer

see his face or his

eyes, star-filled

and midnight blue.

I couldn’t see.

I could only hear

the trumpeting sound

of the Winter Geese

as my eyes opened

to a cool-morning sky.

Susan Ward Trestrail

 

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